Broken (35 page)

Jay nodded. “It wasn’t my choice, believe me.”

“Still, you need to control your dog. Berg’s delicate right now. She doesn’t need this shit.”

Jay nodded again. “I’m aware of her . . . condition.”

“What do you mean?” Arena asked with a frown. “What condition?”

“I know . . . about the baby. Congratulations.” Arena didn’t deny it and the final shreds of Jay’s hope fizzled, like water dripped on a hotplate. “Just promise me you’ll take care of . . . both of them,” Jay asked, doing his level best not to cry in front of the man who now had everything Jay had ever wanted.

Arena nodded. “I’m doing my best, but you need to step the fuck back and let me do it. I’ll make her happy, I swear.”

Jay nodded one final time. It was all he could manage.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I didn’t feel a thing.

It didn’t mean a thing.

Look in the eye and testify.

I didn’t feel a thing.

–Faith No More, “Evidence”

S
till in a haze, Berg didn’t object as Arena followed her home that evening and walked into her apartment behind her, closing the door softly.

“I’m going to grab a beer,” he said, wandering off to the fridge where he now kept a stock of his favorite brand.

She sat down in a daze, still unable to wrap her head around the fact that Jay was marrying that blond bitch.

And to announce it like that . . .

She wanted to rip out the woman’s hair and use it to strangle her to death.

How can I tell him now?

She was the outsider—the unloved woman who brought in an unplanned child. She was guaranteeing her child a life like she’d had, with uncaring, unfeeling parents who had thought her nothing more than an encumbrance. She had fervently hoped to be a better mother than her own, but what were the chances of that happening now?

Her only other option was no longer an option at all, considering how far along she was. That window had closed. Not that it had ever been a window she had seriously considered. Jay may not have ever loved her and had happily moved on with the type of woman she could never be, but she had loved him—still loved him—and this baby was a part of him, no matter how unexpected. It was one of the few things she had left. Taking down Elizabeth Young, protecting little Emma, and her own baby—those were her only reasons for living.

She would’ve cried if she’d been capable of feeling anything more than numb.

“Berg?” Arena said softly, sitting next to her on the couch. “You okay?”

Berg nodded in irritation—he must’ve asked her that question fifty times in the last hour. Obviously, she was not okay. Obviously, she would never be okay again. She felt a wave of grateful love for the baby inside her as it washed over her, safe in the knowledge that without her bouncing jellybean she would be shredding herself to pieces.

“I know you’re upset, but for what it’s worth, my offer’s still good,” he said, picking up her hand. “And it’s what O’Loughlin wants, too.”

Berg perked enough at the mention of his name to want more. “What do you mean?”

“He knows . . . about the situation, and asked me to take good care of both of you. It’s the one and only thing we’ve ever agreed on.”

Berg peered at him in confusion. “He knows? How? Did you fucking tell him?”

Arena shook his head adamantly. “I didn’t, I swear! He already knew.”

Berg’s body jerked as she felt her heart finally break—not just for her, but for her child as well.

How could he? How could he let his child be raised by another man? How could he ask for it?

He was no better than her own father.

“So . . . w-w-will you let me?” Arena watched Berg closely, squeezing her hands.

“What?”

“Take care of you.
Both
of you.”

Berg searched for an alternative, but realized she had none.

Single mother? Or . . . Arena?

The grief, sadness, and fear swelled, threatening to overwhelm her. She flicked the switch, shut down, and felt mercifully dead inside as she watched joy cross Arena’s face.

He put down his beer and crushed her to his chest, stroking her back and murmuring words of love into her neck between kisses. His strokes took on more fervor as he explored her breasts, stomach, and thighs. Sighing, he picked her up off the couch and smiled down at her as he carried her to the bedroom.

Laying her gently on the covers, he started with her work pumps, jacket, and shirt before moving to undo her slacks. He slid the clothes off her body with a sort of reverence, taking a moment to simply stare at each bared section of skin until she was completely naked to his gaze.

Raking his hungry eyes over her body, he stood to remove his own clothing, his muscles rippling across his smooth chest and stomach. Apart from a thick thatch above his impressive erection, he was smooth and hard, and honestly, quite beautiful as far as men go.

Any woman would’ve been happy to be the subject of his attentions. Any woman, except her.

He joined her on the bed and murmured something.

She shook her head to try and clear it, but the roaring in her skull was too loud and made her deaf to his expressions of love.

Kissing her deeply, he stroked her thighs and parted them gently as he moved down to suck one nipple thoroughly, then the other.

Berg felt as though she was watching them from the ceiling of her bedroom as he positioned himself between her thighs, his mouth eagerly completing what he had started months before.

She saw her body react and respond to his touches, but she never saw a spark of anything in the stranger’s eyes looking back at her from underneath the admittedly loving and gentle man. As though she was anesthetized, Berg felt her body spasm and jerk as if it didn’t belong to her. She felt her legs spread wider, her body move underneath his mouth, and then her muscles contract with a mindless orgasm. Her body was so well rehearsed when it came to meaningless sex that, thankfully, she didn’t even need to be present.

He held her body tightly as he pushed himself inside her, and from her perch high on the ceiling, she saw someone else’s hands looking so much like hers gripping his ass and pulling him in closer. Someone else’s voice sounded so eerily familiar as it moaned her pleasure and encouraged him to fuck her, make her come, and he moved faster, harder, deeper.

She watched as both bodies tensed. She felt the release again, pulling her from her high perch just long enough to feel the rush wash over her and was pleased. She’d take all the numbness she could get.

Chapter Thirty-Three

And I need something to help me sleep,

when I know you’re not good for me.

And I need something I can keep,

from the empty space in between.

–Meiko, “Sleep”

T
hey stared out the window of the unmarked police car, watching the funeral procession trudge across the damp, green grass of Evergreen Cemetery.

Berg had respected Alex Young’s wishes. She’d stayed away from the service at St. Bernadette’s, but Emma Young’s life had meant something, her death even more—especially to Berg—and she’d be damned if she was going to miss the burial, too.

They couldn’t hear what was said to the assembled reporters and cameras, and for that, Berg was grateful she wasn’t with the family as she watched Elizabeth turn the burial into a self-serving sound bite. Berg had no doubt she couldn’t have stopped herself from closing her hands around the woman’s throat.

She made another silent promise to make Elizabeth pay for her crime.

“Any movement on Buchanan’s avatar?” she asked the man who had decided to be her partner in life as well as professionally, which seemed to be the only place her input was not only found by her, but listened to by him.

Berg stared at her walls each night as Arena made plans for the both of them, starting with a transfer as soon as they had Elizabeth behind bars. In the meantime, he intended to get out of his lease and move in with her and Jess.

Jesse had looked about as impressed with the plan as she had felt.

Their lovemaking had been as avid as the plan making.

Arena reveled in the body that he was now allowed to touch, starting each morning with a kiss before he made love to her then wandered toward her shower.

Berg always responded, not because she wanted to, but because the few moments of silence following each orgasm helped her briefly forget about her situation.

Each time Arena touched her body, however, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the night she had conceived the baby—the kind of magnificent night she assumed was
de rigueur
at Carla’s place now. The stab of jealousy she had felt at the mere notion of what they might be up to had made her feel so sick she repeatedly encouraged Arena’s attentions.

“
Realm of Blood
reactivated his account and I have been wandering around the game pretending to be him, but the few chats I tried to initiate haven’t led to anything. Seems Buchanan was a loner online as well as in real life. His old chats aren’t visible, he never posted on forums that I could see, and no one has tried to contact him. I hate to say it, but I think it’s a dead end,” Arena said, disappointed.

“Fuck.” Berg sighed.

“Do you have a plan B?”

“I think Marilyn might give us something, if I can ever get her alone. She won’t say anything while either Elizabeth or Alex are there.”

Arena reached for her hand. “We’ll think of something.”

The burial came to a conclusion as Emma’s white coffin was lowered slowly into the freshly dug earth.

Berg spotted Hudson standing off to one side and raised her hand in greeting.

He nodded surreptitiously in response, clearly keen to ensure the Youngs didn’t spy him communicating with her. The look on his face was heartbreaking.

“Come on, let’s go,” Arena said, starting the car just as Berg’s phone rang.

Frowning, she answered the call. “Yes?”

Arena glanced in her direction, brows raised, as he put the car back in park.

“Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up and slipped the phone back into her pocket.

“What was that about?” Arena asked.

“Nothing important. Can you drop me off at my car? I have a few things to take care of.”

“Sure. Anything I can help with?”

“No, thanks.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

I want to reconcile the violence in your heart.

I want to recognize your beauty’s not just a mask.

I want to exorcise the demons from your past.

I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart.

–Muse, “Undisclosed Desires”

S
he’s dead.

Even though Mary Summer Raymond was barely in her sixties when a massive stroke had killed her in her sleep, it seemed as if Berg had been wishing for her death for centuries.

It finally happened.

At her second funeral in three days, Berg stared at the body and noted with detached interest that she’d been more upset at Emma’s funeral a few days earlier than she was about the woman lying in the casket now.

The funeral home had done well. Without the usual sneer contorting her features, the only two mourners present—the priest and Mary’s elderly nurse, Helen—could glimpse the faded beauty that had also been Mary’s curse from a young age. The beauty she had relied on to put food on the table was the same beauty that had attracted all the wrong men into her and her daughter’s lives. After a lifetime of bitterness, hatred, and recrimination, she finally looked peaceful in death.

Berg waited for the sadness, the regret, and the forgiveness to hit her as she stared, but there was . . . nothing. Instead, she remembered every unkind word, every hurt, every rejection, and realized that the hole her mother had left in her heart had long since become scar tissue. The dreams of one day having a loving relationship with the stranger she’d called Mom long since lost. She couldn’t muster up a single tear—not even for show. Not a single feeling of regret for the death of the woman who had died suddenly without ever saying ‘I love you’ or ‘I’m sorry’ to her only child. Not a single kind thought for the woman who had turned a blind eye to her husband’s repeated rapes of her preteen daughter because she had been so dependent on men for her own self-worth, not to mention her survival.

There was clearly something dreadfully wrong with her.

I have no soul.

And now that daughter who had been so easily discarded was going to be a mother herself with nothing but the horrible behavior of this empty shell in the fancy box to emulate. Not for the first time, Berg wondered if she had made the right decision keeping the baby, but it was half his, and therefore, she had to believe that her own defective genes would be diluted enough that the baby might not be doomed to repeat her many mistakes.